


Reflections In Window Panes

by Risuko



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 19:39:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10343193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Risuko/pseuds/Risuko
Summary: When Emeric first came to Meredith with his investigation she had thought he was a fool. She saw now, too late, that she had been the foolish one.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ziskandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/gifts).



Meredith stood at the window of her office, eyes trained at the swirling blues of the water below. She had been fixed to this spot since Knight-Captain Cullen had come by with his report, feeling in her heavy armor like just another of the many horrified statues that decorated the Gallows. 

When Emeric first came to her with his investigation she had thought he was a fool. She saw now, too late, that she had been the foolish one. If she had only listened she could have put an end to this three years ago. 

Meredith’s gloved hand tightened around the report of yet another job that her men should have done. Another time that Hawke had protected the city where she had failed.

And this time Meredith had failed Hawke. The description of Quentin’s work made her stomach turn. Bits of women stitched together and imbued with magic to make some kind of amalgamation – a sick mockery of a human being. And atop it all was the face of Leandra Hawke with another woman’s eyes. Her own mother’s demise seemed ideal in comparison.

A memory rose from the dark corner at the back of her mind, clawing its way into her senses. For a moment she allowed it to claim them. Her ears rung with the sound of steel and screaming, the sea-salt taste of tears washed over her tongue, and her nostrils filled with the intermingling scents of blood and fade. Then she pushed it all back down into the prison she had so carefully constructed for it. 

The sun reflected brightly off the water, giving the appearance of diamonds floating in the waves. It took conscious effort for Meredith to pull her eyes away from the sea, and even more to turn and face the rest of her office. The whole room seemed drenched in shadow, too dark compared to the brightness outside. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the inside.

Her desk was a constant fight between the neatness that she preferred and the difficulty of maintaining the constant flow of paper that she had to deal with. It seemed every day there were ten more pressing issues that required her immediate attention. It struck Meredith as almost funny how something so flimsy could be of so much importance. More and more mages under her watch were turning to blood magic, the mage underground was proving almost impossible to ferret out, and there was always an endless supply of Hawke’s exploits to look through. All of it had to be recorded, dealt with, and signed off on in order to keep the Gallows running smoothly. 

She placed the report on her desk and attempted to straighten out the creases she had made in it. It wouldn’t look good if word got around that she had an emotional reaction to this, or to anything for that matter. Meredith watched the hills and valleys of the parchment equalize under the leather of her gloves. She guided her hands over the report again and then again. With each pass the paper smoothed even more, beginning to resemble what it had been before it had been given to her. But scars still clung to the parchment, small wrinkles unwilling to be erased not matter how much pressure she put them under.

Meredith sat at her desk and looked again at the report in front of her. Aside from the horror of the situation it was very much like every other report she had read: a simple account of events followed by a suggestion of how to respond, all written dispassionately as if there were no difference between an abomination and bad weather. At the end, however, was a single sentence not usually present in such documents: “the funeral service will take place this evening.”

That one simple statement burned in Meredith’s mind, fueled by guilt and temptation. It was a foolish notion – of that much she was acutely aware – but one she just couldn’t get out of her mind. It seemed right that she should have to see the woman’s body laid out on the funeral pyre and then watch as she was engulfed by the hungry flames licking away at her until she was nothing but ashes. And it seemed only fair that she have to see grief and hatred in the eyes of the girl orphaned by Meredith’s own incompetence.

Who else in Kirkwall could understand even half as well what Hawke was going through? Hawke had believed in freedom for mages with all her heart. When she looked at them what she saw was her sweet younger sister and not the monster barely held at bay. Now that view was crashing down around her. Now she saw the true horrors that magic could bring. 

But how does one explain going to the funeral of a woman whom you’ve never met to offer comfort to her daughter, a woman who – for Meredith – was just deeds written out on endless sheets of paper. Despite Meredith’s interest in Hawke the two had never met face to face. Meredith had only seen the girl once three years earlier. She had been staring out windows then, too, and noticed a party entering the front gates below. In that moment she had been struck by how much the woman leading the group reminded her of herself. It wasn’t in any of her features, but rather in the way she carried herself, the way she moved, the commanding air about her. It was hard to believe that only three years had passed. It was becoming difficult to imagine a time when the name Hawke wasn’t on everyone’s lips and Meredith’s desk wasn’t covered in reports on her actions.

Through these reports Meredith felt like she knew Hawke intimately without ever even speaking to her. She heard all about Hawke’s determination, her stubbornness, the love she had for her family, and the losses that she had endured. In the last three years Hawke had materialized out of the words on paper and transformed into a sort of constant companion for Meredith and it felt wrong to be absent when Hawke needed someone who had been where she was right now. Meredith knew that she could help to guide Hawke to the answer that she herself had come to all those years ago.

But it didn’t matter. Hawke was a part of Meredith’s world but Meredith was just a shadowy figure in Hawke’s periphery, and probably the last person Hawke wanted to see right now. 

Meredith signed the report and put it away, along with any idle fancies of attending the funeral. Taking one last look out the window, she made a silent vow. _I promise, Hawke, I will not let anything like this happen again._

**Author's Note:**

> I was so excited to get a prompt to write about Meredith because, despite disagreeing with everything she says and does in the game, I love her as a character. She truly believes that she is doing the right thing every step of the way, and that's what makes her so compelling. I also find it fascinating how much her story mirrors a rouge/warrior Hawke and wanted to explore that a little.


End file.
